


Back Where I Belong

by bayoublackjack



Series: Love in London [35]
Category: Elementary (TV), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Male-Female Friendship, POV Joan Watson, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Sherlock Holmes and Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 14:07:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4524897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bayoublackjack/pseuds/bayoublackjack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After deducing Moriarty’s motivation, Joan seeks out Sherlock and together the two of them address their issues and discuss their future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Back Where I Belong

After deducing Moriarty’s plans, Joan left Molly’s flat and headed straight to Baker Street.  When she arrived, she found Sherlock seated with hands clasped together while Clyde inched across a large white piece of paper with an apparatus holding a paintbrush strapped to his back.  Judging by the number of different coloured swirls, they had been at it for a while.

Joan came up alongside of Sherlock and stopped next to him with her hands on her hips.  “Why are you making Clyde paint?”

Sherlock kept his eyes on the tortoise.  “I’m not forcing him to do anything.  He enjoys it.”

“If you say so,” Joan conceded.  She took a moment to collect her thoughts before giving her full attention to the detective.  “We need to talk.”

“I was under the impression that we _were_ talking.”

Joan paused briefly.  “Moriarty is back.  She’s here in London.”

“Yes, I am aware.”

“Of course you are,” Joan said with a quiet sigh.  “Did Sherlock tell you?”

“A confirmation of my own suspicions,” Sherlock retorted as he finally shifted his interest from their reptilian friend’s artistic endeavours to Joan.  “I would have rather heard it directly from you.”

“I could say the same,” Joan challenged.

“Those two situations hardly carry the same weight, Watson,” Sherlock insisted.  “Moriarty is a dangerous woman.  She cannot be underestimated.  I can only assume that your silence was an ill-advised attempt at sparing my feelings, but I assure that they’re completely inconsequential.”

“What?”  Joan stared at him in disbelief.  “How can you say that your feelings don’t matter?”

“Because they don’t.  They _can’t_ .  And I won’t allow them to in _any_ regard.”

Joan crossed her arms over her chest.  “So were you just never going to tell me how you felt about me?”

“To what end?”  Sherlock replied, rising from his chair.  “Nothing would have ever come of it.  Therefore I saw no need for disclosure.”

Joan followed his movement over to a set of paints, which he used to switch Clyde’s colour palette from yellow to green.  “You didn’t tell me because you were afraid of being rejected?”  It was true that she never thought of Sherlock in that way, but it seemed like a flimsy excuse.

“You’re assuming that I’d be the one rejected in that hypothetical,” Sherlock retorted.

“Wait.  So you thought that I’d just fall head over feet for you once I knew you liked me?” Joan asked in disbelief while moving to his side once more.

“I doubt few would be capable of sweeping you off your feet, Watson.”

“Okay, so what are you trying to say?” Joan pressed, dropping her arms to her sides.

“Perhaps Maya Angelou was correct.”

Joan exhaled sharply in frustration.  “What does Maya Angelou have to do with anything?”

“Love is like a virus.  It can happen to anyone,” Sherlock quoted.  He looked at Joan with a rueful expression.  “From my estimation, love is quite virulent by nature.  It’s opportunistic.  It attacks… _infects_ …whether you want it to or not.  It’s all consuming.  It exploits ours weaknesses until, eventually, it runs its course.  If you’re lucky, you heal and move on.  But even then, it stays in your system and causes you trouble at the dictates of chance like any other chronic disease.”

Joan fell silent as she listened to his explanation.  Once he was finished, she mulled over on his words, looking for meaning in them.  “You thought I’d get tired of you and abandon you,” she guessed.

“I apologise for ever doubting you.  I see now that was never the case.  Which, perhaps, makes now the perfect time to return to New York.”

The shock of his declaration immediately registered on Joan’s face.  “What?”

Sherlock returned his gaze to Clyde, setting the tortoise back on the paper to continue his masterpiece.  “Moriarty has stepped up her game.  It’s high time that I’ve evened the odds a little.”

“And you plan to do that by returning to New York?”

Sherlock nodded.  “That _is_ part of the plan, yes.”

Joan scoffed and refolded her arms.  “Were you not going to tell me either?”

“I’m telling you now.”

Joan exhaled through her nose.  “When do you leave?”

“As soon as my brother has a chance to get his affairs in order,” Sherlock answered, standing up straight.

“Sherlock is going with you?”

“Moriarty made the mistake of dragging William into this melee.  Before he was content to rest on the side-lines, but now that he has become a part of it, Holmesian tenacity dictates that he sees it through to the end.”

Joan could only assume that this was a recent decision.  There was no way Sherlock would leave town again without telling John and if John had known that both detectives were headed stateside, Joan was sure he would have informed her.  At least, she _used_ to be sure.

Seemingly reading her mind, Sherlock spoke again.  “I imagine mine and William’s absences will give you and John sufficient opportunity to work through your issues.”

Joan took a seat in Sherlock’s abandoned chair.  “I don’t know that the two things are related.”

“Of course they are,” Sherlock insisted.  “You’ve been using our relationship as a crutch to avoid dealing with the fact that you’re unhappy.”

Joan closed her eyes and exhaled sharply.  “Sherlock…”

“Don’t misunderstand,” he cut in.  “I don’t mean to imply that you are in any way displeased with your partnership with Dr Watson.  I mean you’re unhappy with your current situation,” he clarified.  “Your husband need not worry about you struggling with monogamy.  It’s the _monotony_ that will do you in.”

“And what’s _that_ supposed to mean?” Joan demanded as she opened her eyes.

“Meaning, Watson, that you are a stimulating, inquisitive and vivacious woman.  You need excitement in your life.  You _crave_ discourse.”

She scoffed softly.  “The last thing I need is discourse.”

“I’m an addict.  I know the signs of addiction,” he retorted.  “It's connected to the conflict at your core, the tension between living a conventional life and the yearning to heed the call of adventure.  Life as a surgeon may have given you the thrill that you sought in the past, but once you ceased practising you were left with a proverbial hole.  A hole that I am proud to say that I played a part in filling.  I may have provided you with the tools but the skill is all yours.  It shouldn’t be surprising.  Our work, much like medicine is based on investigation.”

Joan stared at him.  “Are you saying I should quit the clinic and go back to consulting full time?”

“I’m saying that you should take my place at Scotland Yard,” Sherlock proposed.

Once again, Joan found herself feeling shocked by his words.  “Are you serious?”

“Detective Inspector Lestrade is one of the best that I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with,” Sherlock began.  “But he is not you.”

“Sherlock…”

“You’ve been set adrift by the recent changes in our situation, the move and your subsequent nuptials.  I fear, dear Watson, that you have lost your purpose.  You need to find one that is true to your nature.”

“And that means going to work for Scotland Yard?”

“Perhaps,” Sherlock said as he watched her keenly.  “It really is quite remarkable to me.”

“What is?”

“That after all this time you remain a far more interesting person than you give yourself credit for.”

“I’ll think about it,” Joan promised to both Sherlock and herself.

“I’m glad,” Sherlock told her with a nod of approval.  “It would be a disservice not only to you, but DI Lestrade and Scotland Yard as a whole if you did not, at the very least, consider it.”

Joan matched the nod with one of her own.  “I should go home,” she said after a thoughtful pause.  “John and I need to talk.  It’s time.”

“Be sure to send him my regards,” Sherlock replied as he turned his attention back to Clyde.  “And my apologies for my role in your marital troubles.”  He glanced back at her once more.  “I am an important part of your life and whether I say it out loud or not, you are an important part of mine.  My hesitance to return to New York was driven in large part by my fear of the damage it might inflict upon our relationship.  It has come to my attention, however, that even though we might draw further or nearer from each other, depending on circumstance, you and I are bound, somehow.  It is my only hope that John comes to accept that fact without feeling needlessly threatened.  And above all…I hope that you will be happy, Joan.” 

Joan met his eyes.  For whatever reason, hearing him call her Joan instead of Watson touched her deeply.  “I am happy.  Or at least I _will_ be once I go home and work things out with John.”

“Then perhaps this is where you should take your leave.”

Joan nodded.  “Yea.”  She started towards the door, but paused just short of reaching for the handle and turned back to look at him.  “Don’t be a stranger.”

“A world where Sherlock Holmes is without his Watson is not one I wish to inhabit,” he told her.

“So you’ll be back?”

“I _will_ be back, Watson,” Sherlock promised.

Joan cracked a smile.  “And I’ll be waiting, Holmes,” she replied before starting do the stairs and heading home to fix her marriage.


End file.
